"Oh, just 'along--along!'" urged the young man with a laugh that almost exactly duplicated her own. "For Heaven's sake never spoil a good start by worrying about a poor finish!" "You talk just a little bit like my father," winced Daphne. "Maybe I talk like him," laughed the young man, "but I don't walk like him! No more straight and narrow for me! You're perfectly right, little girl, about this game of [159] being good! I've tried it a whole month now--and believe me, there's--nothing in it! Why, even the gods don't intend you to be good!" he laughed. "When they proffer you sweets on a golden plate they certainly can't expect you to refuse 'em!" "I never ate from a golden plate!" laughed Daphne, as snatching her little hand loose she jumped across the edge of a wave. "Oh, please don't run away from _me! _" entreated the young man. "Whoever you run away from--oh, please don't run away from _me_! It isn't exactly fair, you know! It isn't----" Flashing his lantern aloft he stood for a single instant with his slender, fastidiously flanneled figure silhouetted incongruously against the wild, primitive background of cactus and wreckage. Then in a faint paroxysm of coughing, light and figure faded out. "Oh, I forgot," cried Daphne. "Why, of course we mustn't run!" All the excitement in her turned suddenly to tears. "After all," she confided impetuously, "running away on an island isn't so awfully satisfying! No matter how far you ran it would always be just [160] 'round and round!'" Compassionately she turned back towards him. "Oh, I don't know!" snapped the young man. "Some islands, you know, aren't quite as round and round as others! This one for instance----" With a spring he was at her side, his queer, fascinating face thrust close to hers, his vibrant hands thrilling her shoulders. "You--little--blessed baby!" he cried, "if you're really looking for an adventure--let's make one! But while we're about it--for Heaven's sake let's make it a whopper! Let's--let's pretend that you are a beggar maid!" he laughed excitedly, "and that I am a fairy prince!" Once again he flashed his lantern across her lovely disheveledness. "'Pon my soul," he exulted, "you look heaps more like a beggar maid than I do like a fairy prince! But if I could prove that I was _your_ fairy prince----" "Yes--if you could prove that you were my fairy prince----" laughed Daphne. "Pumpkin coach--and all?" cried the man. His hands on her shoulders were like electric shocks. "Pumpkin coach and all!" whispered [161] Daphne. To save her soul she could not have told just why she whispered. With an odd little smile the young man released his hold on her shoulders and snatched her hand again. "Then come quick!" he cried.